Avoidance
by verden
Summary: It's the day of the tram crash memorial, Peter and Carla are dealing with past memories and current decisions. Follows from Anniversary
1. Chapter 1

**Avoidance**

_Thanks for all your comments on Anniversary. This is set the next day, following directly on from it._

**Part 1**

"Hurry up, Lee!" Peter shouted. They were already late for the memorial service, and he was feeling very tense. He paced again around the living room, mentally rehearsing the few words he'd prepared in case he had to make a speech. He dreaded having to talk about the tram crash, and he feared his memories might get even more vivid.

"Five minutes" Leanne shouted back.

He almost swore in frustration, but taking control, he forced himself to sit down. He needed his composure before facing the whole street. Burying his head in his hands, he wished he could be anywhere else, doing anything but this.

On top of his anxieties about the memorial, he was still shaken from his visit to Carla yesterday: feeling her arms around him, their conversation about the past, but mainly everything that went unsaid. Seeing her had opened up so many questions in his mind, and he was nowhere near resolving any of them.

One thing was certain though. He needed to talk to his wife, to open up to her, like he had to Carla. He owed it to her to share his worries and doubts. To give her the chance to rebuild the trust they once had.

But when he'd tried starting the conversation this afternoon, he knew almost immediately it was impossible. Over a coffee, he had asked Leanne how she felt about the memorial. She'd instantly become edgy, almost defensive, explaining how they should be thankful to have made it, saying that too many people look back rather than forward. Peter had told her about his flashbacks, but while she'd listened sympathetically, he could see she didn't understand, in the easy way Carla had, how it felt to be reliving his worst fears.

He shouldn't really have been surprised: all year she'd been trying to avoid any mention of the crash itself, and even more, the build-up to it, and her betrayal. When he'd tentatively introduced Nick's name he realised the conversation was over; her jaw clenching, her face a closed book. She'd picked up her cup, still half-full, and briskly washed it up, leaving him more isolated than ever.

So here they were, heading to the memorial. The happy couple, he thought ironically. Their wedding, his recovery, being paraded as a symbol of hope after the accident. Yet he'd rarely felt this hopeless. The cracks in his marriage seemed deeper than ever, and for the first time he wondered if the foundations were too broken to fix.

Finally Leanne appeared, and shrugging off his impatient glare, she headed downstairs. As he pulled himself together and followed her, he took a final look back. A year ago, he'd walked through this door to his stag night. It was months before he could walk again at all. Who could really predict anything in this life?

**Part 2**

Carla was also preparing for the memorial. Two empty glasses still stood on the table from last night. Somehow she'd needed to leave them out: solid proof that Peter had been there, that it wasn't just in her imagination.

In LA, she'd thought a lot about her and Peter, remembering her own words long ago, when she'd predicted it was 'one very doomed friendship'. That had been the night she first tried to kiss him, when he'd persuaded her to remain friends. Not that she'd taken much persuading.

The last year had been a disaster, and she had to take full responsibility. Maybe she'd fallen so hard for Peter because of Liam: losing him without fighting for him, before truly admitting her love for him. Whatever the excuse, she'd let her feelings for Peter get completely out of control, losing her perspective and almost everything else along the way. A bitter smile played across her lips: it wasn't like he'd even managed to stop her drinking.

Tragically her prediction had been more accurate than she could ever have known. But it was Carla that their friendship had doomed, while Peter's cosy domestic bliss had carried on virtually uninterrupted.

Or so she'd thought until last night. She'd sensed his unhappiness as soon as he arrived. Within a few minutes he was crying in her arms. Later had he almost admitted he wished he had chosen her over Leanne? He'd made no attempt to hide his desire for her, but it had never just been desire she wanted from him.

Yet nothing had really happened: technically he had stayed faithful to Leanne. Despite reliving the evening in her mind many times, she was no closer to understanding what had happened between them. But Peter was far more troubled than she'd realised, that much was clear.

She saw she was running late for the memorial. Sighing, she decided it would be best to avoid him completely tonight. For once she suspected Leanne would agree with her.

**Part 3**

Peter leaned back in his chair, feeling relieved and slightly light-headed now that the memorial evening had finished. Leanne had gone to pick up Simon from the childminder, and all he had to do was say his goodbyes and get back home.

The memorial had gone well, and everyone was saying it had been a fitting tribute. He'd made a quick speech, had spoken to most of his neighbours, and mainly avoided Leanne. It had been emotional, but nothing he'd not been able to deal with in his own way. Nobody had made a scene, a miracle on this street. And Ken had handled everything perfectly: his dad seemed to relish this kind of occasion.

Peter had the impression though that Carla seemed upset with him after yesterday. He'd tried to catch her eye several times, and although she'd smiled, she'd looked away quickly. Hopefully it was just because Leanne was there, but he couldn't be sure.

He yawned, suddenly feeling everything catch up with him, then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carla heading for the exit. Wearily he walked over and caught up with her just outside. She seemed guarded, but allowed him to walk with her.

"What did you make of the memorial?" he asked, his hands fumbling in the icy December air as he lit a cigarette.

"Bearable once a year, I guess. Wouldn't want one every day" she replied, trying to lighten his mood.

"Last year's been enough drama for me. Time now for a simple life".

"The mundane is definitely under-rated" she replied dryly.

"Mmm." He sighed. "Just predictable and ordinary is fine".

She smiled, catching his eye. "I'd give you a month before you were bored out of your mind".

He laughed slowly. "Make that a week, eh".

They came to a bench, and Peter sat down, hoping she'd join him. She hesitated, but after a quick glance to check they were alone, she sat by his side.

Despite herself, she was enjoying being near to him. In his dark suit, he looked undeniably good tonight, leaning back, his arms stretched out. But there was a look in his eyes she couldn't quite place. He seemed almost defeated.

He took a long breath. "You know Carla, this time last year I'd have given anything just to survive another hour."

He spoke with such emotion. She felt deeply ashamed that she'd let herself get as low as to try to take her own life, when Peter had fought so hard for his.

Peter continued. "I'd have done any deal in the world to make me healthy again. Forget Leanne – I'd have married Mary or Audrey just to live another couple of days." He smiled. "Hell, I'd have devoted myself to Norris if it was that or death."

"Well I'm sure you'd both have been very happy together." She laughed.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and sighed again. "It's strange" he said, very slowly, staring into the distance. "I thought when I could walk again I'd be the happiest man alive. Now I can walk, I just want to run away."

She glanced at him, concerned. This didn't seem like Peter at all.

He looked amused at her unease. "Tell me about LA then – what's it like?"

"Well…. The sun shines almost every day. Miles of sandy beaches. Lots of nice food. Amazing cocktails". Guiltily, she caught herself – "virgin cocktails of course."

"Well I'd hope so" he replied, almost dreamily. "Maybe you could take me there some day..?"

"Oh, back in fantasy-land are we?" she replied sharply. She was getting angry now with his confused messages. "I'm afraid some of us have to live in the real world. I shouldn't even be here..."

She moved to leave, but he reached his hand over, stroked her arm, trying to persuade her to stay. At his touch, she relented, sitting down again.

"This could be real life." he said, looking into her eyes now. She knew she should look away, but she couldn't move.

He leaned even closer to her, so near she could feel his body heat, his soft breath against her face. Then suddenly she realised what was different about him tonight.

"Have you been drinking Peter?"

"What if I have..?", he answered lazily, tilting his head slightly towards her.

He refused to let himself feel ashamed. His memories and his guilt had been building for days, even weeks. This evening they'd just become too much to bear. But at the first cool drop of vodka they'd started to fade. Each illicit sip had taken him closer to the numbness that he craved.

And even better, the alcohol, blurring his mind and his conscience, had suddenly brought into sharp focus what he really wanted. While he still felt empty, it was no longer the emptiness of hollow lies, but of possibility.

But his heart sank as Carla backed away from him, her expression shocked.

"Does Leanne know you've been drinking?"

He laughed, a wild look flashing in his eyes.

"Does Leanne know me at all? Now that's the real question…"

Carla was lost for what to do. All she could think was to ask back:

"So what's the real answer?"

…


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for reviews on chapter 1! Here's the next chapter..._

Peter didn't understand. He finally knew what he wanted, what he thought Carla also wanted. So why was she asking about things he was desperate to forget? With the alcohol dulling his mind, the questions that were hard enough sober felt completely impossible now. But they suddenly seemed irrelevant. All that mattered now was how he felt.

"I need you Carla." He reached over, taking her hand in his. It felt like the biggest betrayal yet. Even worse somehow than when they'd kissed during the summer. But he had no strength to fight his feelings any more.

She held his hand tightly, closing her eyes, longing so much to believe him. But when she'd needed him, so many lonely months, he hadn't been there. How could she trust him now, without knowing what had changed? Without knowing if it was just the alcohol.

"Peter." She squeezed his hand, choosing her words carefully, thankful she at least was sober. "If you're not happy, you need to deal with it, understand what's wrong. Whether it's the tram crash, or Leanne, or the drinking. You can't just run away from it."

He sighed. He should have known she wouldn't let him off so easily. Carla had a knack of seeing right through him. Her words even sounded like those he'd once used, helping her with her own drinking. Ironic that she was using his own advice against him: pushing him away, even while helping him.

He let go of her hand, lighting another cigarette. He needed to think, to clear his mind somehow.

Missing his touch, she watched him smoking, inhaling deeply, his forehead furrowing with concentration. This was one addiction she'd never shared herself, except a shared cigarette long ago, too painful to remember. She'd always seen something sensual in the way Peter smoked, especially when he was upset. Tonight he looked like he needed all the comfort he could get.

He finally spoke. "I was unhappy long before I drank tonight" he finally replied. She believed him, remembering his mood the previous evening.

"And the memorial has really got to me. Remembering how I nearly died. But only because it's hit me how screwed up my life is right now." He looked at her, his eyes serious. "That I'm with the wrong woman."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, eager but scared to hear the answer. She found herself holding her breath.

He sighed, looking down at the ground, his hand fidgeting with his cigarette. "Have you ever felt someone loved the idea of you.. Just not you as you really are?"

She nodded, smiling grimly. She knew all too well.

"However hard you try, you can never be good enough, never match up. Just a never-ending disappointment."

He looked desolate. She longed to put her arms around him, to comfort him.

"She loves Simon, our life together, I know she does." he continued sadly. "But Nick could never have happened if she really loved me. And why do I always end up feeling like the problem that needs to be fixed?" He laughed harshly. "I get enough of that from my dad."

She listened, forcing herself not to interrupt or to reach out to him.

"But you… " he was looking into her eyes now, seeming more alert, the effects of the drink fading. "You've seen me at my best and my worst." He smiled sadly. "Tonight's a real highlight I suppose."

He stopped, looking like he might not go on. "And all the time, you just loved _me__…_ As I am" He looked at her, pleadingly.

Then noticing her hesitation, he added bitterly. "Or have I disappointed you now too?"

She realised there was no avoiding honesty now, with his eyes fixed on her "Of course not" she answered slowly. "You know how I feel. Whatever you do. I can't help it."

For the first time tonight, she could see the tension leaving his face, his shoulders relaxing, a look of almost happiness on his face. "I really don't deserve you" he said, putting his hand on hers again.

"You've not got me Peter" she pointed out, her fingers stroking his hand. "You're married, remember."

He sighed deeply. "You've got me though" he said. "Well and truly."

He was about to continue, about to tell her how he really felt, when she shook her head. She moved her hand to his face, trying to stop him from saying more.

For so long she'd wanted to hear the words he was about to say. But she couldn't bear it with him drunk, not this way. He was the only person she really trusted, especially after Frank's attack. If she lost her trust in him, she'd lose everything.

"Peter don't." she whispered, her hand stroking his cheek. "Don't say something now that you'll just take back tomorrow."

"I mean every word." he insisted. "I've been wrong for so long. I'm sorry."

"What about Leanne then? What will she make of all this?"

He sounded desperate now. "I'll tell her, I'll explain why I can't be happy with her."

"You looked pretty happy together after Cornwall. And what about Simon?". She spoke angrily suddenly, remembering how devastated she'd felt, seeing him with Leanne, hearing about the life they shared.

Peter looked into her eyes, speaking softly. "Would I be here with you now, saying this, if I was happily married?"

Desperately wanting to believe him, but knowing she mustn't, her confused emotions took over. As her usual defence mechanism kicked in, she answered flippantly, an edge to her voice.

"As I recall, you once _married_ someone else when you were happily married." Then seeing the shock on his face, she wished she could take it back. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm hardly a saint myself…."

But his shock had turned to shame. "You're right though. What kind of low-life am I?". Another realisation hit him. "Today's my wedding anniversary for God's sake."

…


	3. Chapter 3

Peter stubbed his cigarette out angrily against the bench, hurling it to the floor. Then twisting around away from her, he rested his forehead against his hand, hiding his face.

Carla was disgusted with herself. All the times he'd supported her; listening, understanding, never judging. Now when he'd opened up and even admitted his feelings for her, with one thoughtless comment she'd just made him feel even worse.

"Peter, look at me". She tried to draw him out again, her hand on his shoulder, pleading. "I'm sorry. I want everything you've said. I want us. But I need to be sure you mean it."

Still shielding his face from her, he eventually spoke, his voice breaking with emotion. "I'm not sure who I am any more….. How did it all turn into such a mess?"

As the implications of tonight sank in, she felt the darkness closing in on her. Whatever happened, someone would have their heart broken, their life torn apart. Either her, or Simon and Leanne, maybe even all three.

What was she thinking? It was always her that came out worst.

She could almost hear everyone's voices already. The marriage-wrecker. Learning nothing from experience – except how to break hearts even more effectively.

Yet couldn't they see that every time she thought of Liam, she couldn't regret a single stolen moment with him? Just the times she let him go.

Now, only inches away from Peter, she didn't know if he was finally hers, or if she had lost him forever. And if so, what was left?

Interrupting her despairing thoughts, he finally turned slowly towards her. He looked worn, but somehow more at peace with himself.

"Can I really just stay with her out of guilt though?"

His voice faded into the night, a half-question not meant for her, but taking all her strength not to answer. She looked away, the silence a crushing weight upon her.

"We could be happy together, Carla."

Despite the thrill that ran through her body, she tried to keep her voice calm.

"That used to be my line."

"If only it didn't have to destroy everyone else's happiness." Speaking with his face half in shadow, lit only by the streetlight, he looked completely unattainable.

"Story of my life" she replied bitterly.

"Story of mine too…" he agreed, sighing.

Her eyebrow arched. "Oh, competitive are we?"

He smiled despite himself. "Why else do I run a betting shop?"

"Guess so." She thought for a moment. "Although, if I were being philosophical…"

His amused glance encouraged her.

"..betting's just about hope really, isn't it. Hoping for some luck. That something will go right this time. Even when it's always gone wrong before."

Hope. The word echoed in Peter's mind. Maybe that's why he'd suddenly felt so sure of his feelings. Carla was the only person who gave him hope these days. Not only how she instinctively understood him. Just being in her company made him feel like a better man than he'd ever been. And at her lowest, he'd been able to get through to her when no-one else could.

What was the point of any of this unless you could feel hope?

He reached out to her, took her hand again.

"It only needs to work out once, you know."

"True" she replied, looking into his eyes, finally starting to let herself believe him. "Think we're both due for some luck by now."

He moved his other hand to her cheek, stroking her face, his touch gentle.

"I'd do anything to make you happy you know."

She fixed his gaze. "I know. But I don't need you to do anything. I just need you."

"I love you Carla." His voice trembled as he finally admitted his feelings. "You have to believe that"

"I want to…" she answered. "You have no idea how much I want to".

She felt herself weakening, but at that moment, his phone rang. He switched it off immediately, but his expression gave it away.

Carla looked at her watch. "You should go now. She'll be worried." she said.

At the thought of him leaving, a rush of loneliness hit her. By tomorrow would he have forgotten all of this? But he seemed to read her thoughts. He leaned over, putting his arms around her, holding her tightly, blocking out the rest of the world.

Then he leaned into her, longing to kiss her at last. He could see in her eyes how much she wanted him, but she moved her face away.

"You have to go" she insisted.

He kissed her softly on the forehead, his lips lingering as long as possible, his fingers stroking her arm. He was so gentle, so warm, she felt all her resolve slipping away. She could lose herself in his arms. Maybe she already had.

"I can't leave you now." He was almost begging now. "I mean everything I said tonight. I promise you."

"Peter, this is wrong." she insisted, pushing him gently away, hoping he wouldn't see the tears filling her eyes. "You're married. And you're drunk. That's a few obstacles too many". She smiled bitterly "Even for me."

He wanted to argue back, but knew she was right.

"But in the morning I'll be sober.."

"You will." she assured him. She kissed his cheek. "And every day afterwards. I'll make sure of that."

As he walked away into the cold night, she whispered after him: "Will you still be married though?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

Alone, Carla still sat on the bench. It was twenty minutes since Peter had left. Since she'd made him leave, against every instinct in her body.

The temperature had fallen below freezing, but she hardly felt it. Her emotions were veering from excitement to sympathy, hope to guilt. But behind it all, an exhilaration she was struggling to hold back. He'd said it. He loved her.

There was finally a chance, more than a chance, that they could be together, but it seemed too good to be true. If she'd learnt anything from experience – and sometimes she wondered - it was to wait before letting her feelings get out of control.

Her inner cynic kept interrupting her thoughts. It was hardly the first time a drunk man claimed to be misunderstood by his wife. But this was Peter. She knew him so well. He'd meant every word, at least in the moment. And she'd never seen him as emotional as tonight.

Misgivings still lingered though in the back of her mind. He had been so volatile in the last couple of days. Was he really ready to make a decision like this? Ready to change his life, and to deal with the consequences?

It suddenly hit her. She shouldn't have let him leave alone. Standing suddenly, she walked as fast as she could. No harm in checking he was OK.

**Part 5**

She was almost at his flat when she saw him, leaning against a shuttered shop window. Seeing her approach, he tried to hide the bottle she'd seen at his lips, but it was too late.

"Peter" she cried. "Don't do this!"

Cornered and caught out, he tried to hide his shame with sarcasm. "Just a quick nightcap..."

"Where did you get the bottle?" She suddenly realised. "Why didn't you say you had it all the time.."

He refused to meet her eye, shrugging stubbornly. "Got all the tricks, me. Thought you knew by now."

"Peter". She didn't know whether to feel more angry or disappointed. "I thought you were being honest with me."

"I was" he insisted, looking ashamed. "I was honest. About everything else. I'm sorry. Wasn't going to drink more I swear, but when I saw Leanne's face…..". He looked stricken.

"So you did go home?". She was even more concerned.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the pavement. "Apparently someone saw me drinking, rang her... When I walked in, she was so angry with me." His voice cracking, he turned away and took another sip of vodka.

"I couldn't face her Carla.". He looked directly at her for the first time. "I couldn't tell her the truth. And I couldn't not tell her." There were tears in his eyes. "So I walked straight out again. Had the bottle still from before. It was all too much."

"How much did you drink?"

"Not much" he replied. "Only got here a moment before… before you came."

Taking the bottle out of his inside pocket, he held it up. She was relieved to see for herself that it was a small bottle, still almost half full. She tried to take it from him but he pulled his hand away, keeping it out of her reach.

"God, I hate you seeing me like this" he admitted.

"Please let me get rid of it." she begged.

"I can't" he admitted. "Still got to face the music, explain why I drank. Then tomorrow's the day I end my marriage. Break up my family." He added: "If you even still want me now?"

"You know how I feel." Her eyes were sad. "But you need to deal with this. I thought tonight was just the memorial. Just a one-off. You've been doing so well up to now…"

His anger flared. "Oh, that's what they'll all say isn't it. 'well done Peter', 'aren't you doing well', like I'm some misbehaving kid. I'm sick of it!" He took an angry sip from the bottle, shielding himself with his left arm, keeping Carla away.

Lowering his voice, he shifted restlessly. "Anyone else can let off steam every now and then. Why should I be any different." He laughed harshly, "God knows there's only so much orange juice a man can take…"

She could really see the strain he was under now.

"No-one at that memorial knows what I went through... that night, how it is with Leanne. Who are they to judge me?"

She spoke warily, having never seen him this way before. "Peter. I'm the last person on earth who could judge you. But if you care about me… like you said before… you need to let me help you."

He responded to the calm in her voice, taking a few deep breaths and becoming still.

"I'm sorry love. It's me I'm angry with, not you." He spoke firmly but no longer aggressively. "But I really needed to drink, and I now need to drink some more. Right now I don't want help from you or anyone else." He moved to drink again, but Carla put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Right" she replied. "You say this now. What about tomorrow? When you blame me for not stopping you".

His expression softened. "I couldn't blame you Carla. Not ever." He moved to put his arm round her, but she shook him off.

"Is this about punishing yourself Peter? Is that it?" she asked. "Because you're punishing me much more."

"That's not true" he replied, shocked

"It is. And even more if you're drinking in any way _because_ of me." She put her hand on his arm. "I love you Peter. I swear, every sip you take hurts me much more… so many times more than it hurts you."

He hesitated, and she seized the moment. "Think about it Peter. How would you feel if it was me with the bottle? Drinking because of you?"

He thought slowly "I'd need you to pour it away" he admitted eventually. "It would kill me to see you….". His voice tailed off.

"Right" she said. "Do you understand now?"

He nodded, slowly, sadly. They were bound together in this. If they didn't fight their addiction together, it would either destroy them or break them apart.

"Let me help you" she said, reaching to him.

He backed away slightly at first. But finally closing his eyes, he let her put her hand over his right hand that still gripped the bottle tightly, his knuckles white.

Slowly, he allowed her to tilt the bottle, until the vodka began to drain out onto the pavement. In a few seconds the bottle was empty. She took her hand away.

He breathed out slowly, feeling all the tension lift from him. He put the bottle down on the floor.

Then he put his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

"Thank you, Carla. No-one else could have made me do that" he whispered in her ear. "And I promise that's the last time."

She felt so relieved she could hardly speak. She'd finally got through to him, they'd been able to get through it. Looking to the ground, she saw the trail of vodka had almost evaporated. If only everything else could be cleared away away so quickly.

"You're not alone now" she finally managed to say. "From now on, we deal with everything together".

They stood there, holding each other tightly. She pressed her face into his neck, loving being so close to him. She felt his hands stroking her hair softly and tenderly.

She'd pushed him away twice this evening. She couldn't any more.

Sensing she needed him, Peter leaned into her again, his hand on her cheek.

"I love you so much Carla".

He kissed her gently. She was intoxicating. How had he waited so long to do this? His body ached for her. But this wasn't just passion like the last time they'd kissed. This time their kisses were slower and deeper, finally releasing feelings they had both suppressed for so long. He pulled her closer to him, knowing he could never bear to leave her again.

But she seemed so fragile in his arms. He remembered how much she'd been through and how vulnerable she might still feel.

Pulling away for a moment, he looked at her, asking softly. "Is this OK?"

She smiled, a spark in her eyes again that he hadn't seen for a long time.

"Never better."


End file.
